Title: The Chase
Word Count: 1,525
Rating: PG
Characters: Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss and original character (UnSub)
Summary: Morgan's on the chase for the most dangerous UnSub he's met yet.
Author's Note: This was written as a challenge for the LiveJournal community Crimeland. Any feedback/constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy!
He ran so fast, it felt as though time around him slowed.
The soles of his shoes were pounding the pavement with such ferocity that each impact left a ripple of an unidentifiable sensation across the bottoms of his feet. His heart raced to pound faster than his legs as he sucked in air that penetrated his lungs and esophagus like pins and needles with every breath. His muscles were emanating a heat that he could swear was bleeding into the freezing night air and he watched it float in front of him in a puff of steamed fog each time he exhaled. Behind him, he could hear Prentiss's foot fall keeping up with his own as the UnSub they were sprinting after darted into the darkened doorway of what looked to be an abandoned apartment building.
Before Morgan had time to think, he heard Prentiss gasp out "I'll go 'round back," and he had no time to respond to her before his legs carried him to follow into the building's front after the UnSub.
Once inside, the sharp assault of the scent of urine penetrated his nostrils and the sudden lack of wind drew the beads of sweat out of the pores in his forehead, adding to the gritty feeling made by the entryway's stale air. Floor tiles slid under his shoes, and as one slipped away, his heart felt as though it had dropped into his stomach. Not necessarily because of the sensation of falling, but because it was that feeling –that feeling of falling- that made it dawn on him that he let Prentiss out of his sight. Perhaps Morgan would always associate the feeling of that rush of a fall with the look he remembered on his friend and coworker's face when he desperately tried to keep her from dying in his arms; words stuck in her mouth unable to come out and tears mixing with the blood that dripped down her face.
But, he had to force the image away from his mind and continue this pursuit, because now only Her safety mattered. Her safety was all that forced the pain and exhaustion from his body; the clatter of running feet on the stairs about a floor above him gave him the second wind he needed to leap into action, taking the stairs two at a time, doubling his speed and closing the distance between them.
Crumbling bits of staircase fell from the tread of Morgan's boots as red bricks with festering black mold whipped through the peripheral of his vision. For a single beat of his heart, he thought about using the railing of the staircase to pull himself along even faster, but a survey of its state done in the span of a blink showed him jagged, rusted metal, ripe with tetanus, so he chose instead to tuck his elbows into his sides and to keep his eyes focused only on what was ahead of him and around the bends of his path.
Suddenly, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of tan work boots, stumbling to regain balance just barely out of grabbing distance from Morgan's clenched fists. He lunged up the rise of the stairs, stretching his torso far as it would go, as the other man snapped himself upward, kicking the loose tile caught to his boot into Morgan's face. He could feel the jagged rip of the age-and-weather hardened linoleum rip across his cheek as he twisted his neck to shield his eyes from its shards. He watched the tile bounce against the wall behind him before falling to the floor and cracking again.
He spun his torso back into alignment with the direction of his feet just in time to visually catch the heel of brown boot scrambling to disappear behind a closing door. He bolted forward, placing his feet where the tiles were missing to avoid the same slip the UnSub endured, but otherwise reckless of himself, caring only for catching this guy and for keeping the feeling of his fallen heart suppressed, continuing to push thoughts of Prentiss to the back of his mind.
He slammed his body into the bar handle of the door, throwing it open with a clatter that echoed into the enormous loft floor, empty but for its support pillars. He slowed to match the world around him then, giving himself permission to catch his breath as he listened for any sign of movement in the vast expanse of the cement room. His ears heard only the pounding pump of his blood, and he swallowed hard to ease the burning in his throat. He couldn't hear the UnSub, but he couldn't hear Prentiss either, which meant she was still safe away from the armed suspect.
He exhaled as slowly as his lungs would allow and drew his gun from its holster, flicking off the safety as he pulled it in front of him, his finger floating next to the trigger. He still couldn't hear anything over the beating of his own heart, but he stopped to observe the room he stood in, looking for any movement that might give the man away. Slowly, he slid behind the safety of a pillar and jerked to a hyper-alert state as the plaster of a pillar down the row he stood in dropped to the floor.
Somewhere to his right, he began to hear the crackling of plastic moving. He looked to the windows and saw them covered in white sheets of plastic, the rips within causing them to blow in the wind coming through the broken glass like shredded curtains. But he could hear the crackle. His heart was quieting, so he allowed himself another slow inhale.
A whisper of an echo traced the hard floor to his ears, the sound of glass crunching under a boot. Morgan moved down the wall of the loft, taking care to keep low and use the pillars as cover. Even after his movement ceased, he could hear foot fall from the wall opposite him moving in the same direction. He could sense the start of a cat-and-mouse ballet beginning. But, Morgan never was one for dance.
"It doesn't have to be like this, man," he called to the air. His voice reverberated off the walls and pillars surrounding him in such a sudden manner, they seemed to silence the wind for a moment. "We can all set our weapons down and go to the Police Station together," he tried, "nice and easy. We'll listen to your story and-"
A cackle rang out from about ten feet from where Morgan stood. "And what?" the cackle asked. "Finally end the chase? Where would be the fun in that?"
His tone was snide and condescending. It filled the air with a palpable arrogant superiority. Morgan angled himself toward the voice, and matched its tone to ask, "Is that what this is for you? Fun?"
"Not at all, Agent. That's what it is for you."
Oh. One of those guys. "And what exactly do you think is so fun for me here? Seeing what you did to those kids? You think that was fun?"
The cackle again, but this time it was accompanied by footsteps. Long, sliding footsteps that were obviously made to taunt as they sauntered to the end of the room farthest from the entrance. The click of a door lock being turned snapped through the cement of the room, and Morgan could hear the whoosh of wind rushing the room, like sheep being herded into a pen. He cautiously moved himself to the center of the room and looked to the silhouette of the man standing at a set of opened French doors, his head low with a crooked smile splitting the shadow of his face.
"The Chase," the man sneered, "you've tricked yourself into thinking you enjoy the chase." He moved his head up to meet Morgan's gaze as he slowly backed to the balcony behind him.
Morgan lowered his weapon a bit and called, "Don't do it, Man, stay in here!"
The man grinned his sickly smile again as he continued, "But that's the thing, isn't it, Derek?" Morgan's heart stopped in his chest. How did he know his name? "You're not the one doing the chasing, oh no. You're the one being chased, aren't you?"
His weapon involuntarily raised itself again, "What are you talking about? Stay inside!"
"Your past, Derek. You keep running and running from it, and somehow it keeps catching up with you. And I think we both know it's only a matter of time before it catches you." He took another step back, slowly, this time reaching the railing of the balcony.
"Stop!" Morgan cried after him, "Just stop and think about this!"
The man spread his arms wide and turned his face to the heavens. "Keep running, Derek," he called in a gentle sing-song voice just before his body stiffened and dove back.
Morgan charged at the balcony, his gun retired to his side. Desperately, he skid to a stop at the edge and looked over to spot the man.
But he was gone.